meet the blogger
favourite saved url: I only have the one. I don’t save URLs.
the next movie you’re planning to watch: I want to watch Prince of Persia again. I know a lot of people hated on it, but I really enjoy it.
the last movie you watched: Star Trek (because I had just seen the midnight showing of Star Trek Into Darkness and needed more nuTrek).
the book you’re currently reading: Jane Eyre (and a lot of fanfiction)
the number of songs on your iPod: I don’t even know. A shit ton. Not enough.
that one song that’s been stuck in your head all week: Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner by Fall Out Boy (“I’ll be your best kept secret and your biggest mistake.”)
what would your patronus be? A black labrador retriever.
favourite word: Somnambulant.
A rant about my name.
The Hubster has had a little wine, so I’m trying not to let this bother me too much.
But he keeps calling me ——y. Not to me, he’s talking about me to people on TeamSpeak. Oh, wait, he just spoke to me directly using that name.
My name is not ——y.
My name is Sebastien. Baz for short. Or Seb if you’re me, or my best friend, b.
Sebastien. It’s the name I have chosen for myself. I consider myself to be genderqueer, although I tend to lean towards female when I don’t just feel androgynous/in the middle. Sometimes I lean toward the masculine, but it’s harder to nail those days down.
I introduce myself as Baz. My name on Facebook is Baz. Occasionally, I have to get into the explanation as to why I’m Baz and what it’s short for, and where it all came from. I don’t mind explaining that I chose my own name. Until they ask what my “real” name is, which is a pain in the ass.
Sebastien is my real name. I chose it. It’s mine. The nicknames that come from it? Baz and Seb? Hell, even Bastien? Those are mine too. Unless your name is Sebastien/Sebastian as well, and then I can share.
I will not yell at my husband for calling me a derivative of my birth name. He means no harm. He knows my preferred name, but when he’s talking to other people, he uses the name he was introduced to me as. ——y. That’s who Daphne told him I was before he met me, and I hadn’t chosen my own name back then.
But it still bothers me.
To family, old friends (minus b), and people I don’t get to introduce myself to first, I get called ———a, or ——y. With most of these people, I try not to let it bother me. But when I randomly hear ——y (which I hate for the most part, which is why I spelled mine with four letters only, and used an I, not a Y), it startles me and makes me go, “Wait. That’s not who I am.”
I don’t know.
Maybe I’m being stupid. It’s just… that’s not my name anymore. I haven’t legally changed my name yet (money and time I don’t have), but I hope to some day. Is it so much to ask to be called the name I’ve chosen for myself?
I am trying desperately to be okay. But I am failing. And it sucks.
I feel like a worthless piece of shit. The people around me are having fun, and I’m just sitting here, depressed, wishing I was alone. I don’t know what to do with myself. But then, that’s been true for a while now.
Besides more whining, can’t think of anything else to say.
I just kind of really wish I didn’t exist right now.
Something I wrote once upon a time ago…
You make me want to slit my wrists. Tell me, is that what love really is?